


Lab Rats

by pallojaketju



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Feelings, First Time, Fix-It, Fuck Or Die, John Watson's Mind Is Blown, Kissing, M/M, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, Sex, Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers, The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10054142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallojaketju/pseuds/pallojaketju
Summary: What if there had been one more room at Sherrinford? What if there had been something we didn’t see, something that could explaineverything?





	

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to my beta, Parkerluce, for your thoughtful comments and support. 
> 
> This the first time in years that I'm publishing anything (since my days in the Harry Potter fandom). I write, but usually none of it sees daylight. However, this story had to be written and (hopefully) read. This is my love letter to everyone in this fandom. I love the creativity and copious amount of fic generated by everyone here. Never stop, please.
> 
> The events in this story take place between the Garrideb Scene and the Coffin Scene in _The Final Problem._
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are very welcome.

 

**Lab Rats**

 

_“I want to see you interact with people you are close to.” – Eurus Holmes, The Final Problem_

 

 

The sound of a heavy metal door slamming shut echoed in the room around John Watson. He winced from the sound of it. A quick survey of his surroundings presented him no other exits except the one behind him. The room had concrete walls, no windows, and a TV screen on the opposite wall displaying nothing but static. There were three small cameras in the upper corners. A narrow bed with white sheets and a flat pillow had been placed in the middle of the room. The air felt stagnant and cold. John turned and looked at the closed door. No handle, no lock.

No way out.

Sherlock had already circled the room once. He was agitated, John could tell from the way he was pacing. The gun that the governor had used on himself was held loosely in his hand.

“Sherlock, what do you think?” John kept close to the door, alternating his gaze between Sherlock and the TV screen.

“What do I think?” he didn’t stop striding around the room. “You heard her. These are tasks, games.”

“Right. Ok. How long are you going to keep playing?” John felt slightly nauseous. The adrenaline was still coursing through him, but the memory of the prison governor’s brains splattered all over the glass replayed in his head. He saw the three Garrideb brothers falling, the look of horror on their faces. He closed his eyes, trying to focus. The mission: get Sherlock out alive, save the girl on the plane. Mycroft. Well, he would be a bonus. The fact that Mycroft was not with them in this room now but had been forced to stay behind by _her_ was disconcerting as it was. 

_Focus on the mission._

He opened his eyes again, taking a deep breath.

“As long as I need to.” Sherlock’s eyes snapped to John from across the room. “This is an —“

The TV screen flickered to life, cutting Sherlock off mid-sentence. They both turned to it. It showed an image that made John groan.

“Shit.”

Mycroft Holmes was tied to the chair on the ledge where the prison governor’s wife had been a mere 15 minutes ago. Hands cuffed, mouth taped shut. He looked livid. His hands were twisting, fingers tapping on his knees.

John glanced at Sherlock, now standing close to him. There was no indication of worry or panic, just an intense stare.

“Morse code,” Sherlock muttered, “he is trying to tell us to save ourselves. “

“What is he saying, exactly?” John knew Morse, but what Mycroft was doing with his fingers didn’t add up to anything.

“A-V-E-Y-O-U-I-D-I…”

Eurus rolled in front of Mycroft, blocking him from view. She had a gun in her hand.

“This is a family drama, Sherlock. It’s your choice how the story ends. In tragedy…or in bliss. I know how you like to play games. Now you are playing with me. Do you think it’s a fun game? Do you think it’s sick? I can’t tell. I’m not sure I’m having fun. Are you having fun?”

There was deadness in her eyes. John had never seen anything like it before. It scared the shit out of him. If Eurus truly was what Mycroft claimed she was, the outcome of this didn’t look very rosy.

“Eurus,” Sherlock said in a low voice, “Eurus, do you want to play with me? Why don’t you come here and we’ll do just that. It’s not the same if we aren’t together.”

Eurus smiled then.

“Oh no, brother. We both know how that would end. You are now my toys and I will decide what happens. You can teach me about things, like I taught you when we were little.” She leaned forward as if to reach for the control panel that was in front of her.

The room turned red and Moriarty’s face flashed on the screen. His manic smile filled the room. He was grinning from ear to ear and then giggled: “This is about…SEX.”

“Have FUUUUUN….”

The screen flicked back to Eurus, the red light disappeared. She was staring at them once more.

“Sex is pointless to me. Messy. I told you I tried it once. It didn’t feel like anything. A strange human condition; to want that. Show me how you have sex, Sherlock. Make me understand it. Make your pet COME or our big brother is dead. You have fifteen minutes.”

The screen went black, and a timer appeared. It started the countdown from 15 minutes.

John stared at it, horrified.

“Eurus! Talk to me, EURUS!” Sherlock was shouting at one of the cameras.

“EURUS!!!”

The screen flicked back to Mycroft, still chained to the chair, still tapping furiously on his knees.

Then the red lights were flashing. Moriarty’s face like a clock: “TICK TOCK ,TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK.”

And then back to the timer, now showing:

14.23

14.22

14.21

Sherlock looked furious for the first time since the whole debacle had started. He stood in the middle of the room, frozen.

“Sherlock?” John tried, his eyes now locked to the bed and realising why it was there.

Jesus Christ. This wasn’t happening. This was sick. This was…

“Sherlock…”

Sherlock was still motionless, eyes unfocused, anger visible on his face.

“Sherlock, can you hear me? The clock now says fourteen minutes. What do we do?”

Still no response. John wiped his face with his hands, realised they were clammy and that his heart was racing.

“Shit…SHERLOCK!”

That did it. Sherlock snapped out of wherever he had been and looked at John, shaking his head slightly.

“John, I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”  Something in Sherlock’s voice stopped John’s mind reeling, stopped him from hyperventilating.

“Right. Right. Ok. Then...we just…,”

“John. I can’t. You don’t understand. You have no idea what she is asking of me.”

_Oh._

John felt heat rise to his cheeks.

“Um...surely as a genius with a mind palace you can imagine I’m…someone else.”

“No, John. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not that.” John had never seen Sherlock so uncomfortable. He was wringing his hands, glaring at the timer.

John glanced at the screen too.

“12 minutes.”

Sherlock let out a frustrated growl and grabbed his hair, the gun clutched in his hand. He then aimed it at the TV, his arm shaking.

“Surely, I’m not that bad looking.”  Despite everything, John felt a bit hurt by Sherlock’s reaction.

“I told you, it’s not that,” Sherlock said quietly, dropping his hand, not meeting John’s eyes.

“It’s your brother out there, Sherlock. The girl on the plane. We have to try. No matter how wrong this is.”  John’s words sounded hollow even to his own ears. Was he really trying to convince Sherlock…trying to get Sherlock to...no, this was insane.

They stood there for what felt like minutes but, in reality, was probably seconds.

“You said we have to let her do this,” John tried once more.

_It’s not like she’s asking us to shoot each other._

Finally, Sherlock nodded slowly. It looked like resignation.

“Yes.” And he looked at John then. “Yes, we have to try.”

“Ok. Good. “ John tried to smile reassuringly. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

 “Um, how do you want to…?”

Sherlock started pacing again. This time he circled the bed, staring at it, like it was a dangerous object and he was being cautious to approach it.

“Sit on the bed.” He motioned. “I’m going to…” he had to clear his throat then, “…perform oral sex on you. That’s the fastest, most efficient way.”

“Christ.” John’s head filled with dozen images in a flash and suddenly the two meters to the bed felt like a mile.

“Are you sure about this?” John didn’t think he could even get it up. Sex was the last thing on his list of things to do today. Apart from dying.

“Come on.” Sherlock seemed to have got over whatever had been stopping him and now, with a clear goal in mind, he seemed determined. “Don’t worry. I’m good at it, I’ve studied the technique.”

“Oh Jesus.” John forced himself to look at the timer.

10.29

10.28

10.27

_CONCENTRATE._

“Okay, okay. Let’s do this.”

John moved to the bed and sat down on the edge. It was hard, he could feel the coldness of the metal through the thin sheets and blankets. Somehow everything was suddenly in very sharp focus.

Sherlock came to stand in front of him, quickly removing his suit jacket and folding it neatly. He placed it on the bed, along with the gun.  He moved closer and after a fraction of a second, with the smallest hint of hesitation, got down on his knees in front of John. Sherlock looked up. He was asking for a permission to continue. Somehow his eyes looked so blue in the cold fluorescent light.

John swallowed and nodded.

Sherlock put his hands on John’s knees and pushed them slightly apart, still looking up. Then he moved even closer. John felt like he was in a very surreal dream. Maybe he had become part of Sherlock’s drug-fuelled hallucinations. But he could see Sherlock so clearly. His dark curls falling on his brow, the little lines around his eyes, his full lips now slightly parted. John’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t think. He could feel warm hands on his thighs, slight pressure, sliding up to his groin.

“Do you want to kiss first? I know you prefer to. It arouses you.”

John had no idea how Sherlock knew that, no idea why, but he felt like he was experiencing all this from afar. Like he was watching himself from across the room. But then he suddenly wasn’t, and Sherlock was the only thing he could see.

“Yes,” he heard himself say.

Sherlock leaned up and a second before their lips touched, he could feel Sherlock’s breath, quick and warm against his mouth. He closed the gap before he lost his nerve. And that was it. They were kissing. John Watson was kissing Sherlock Holmes in a prison cell for the criminally insane, all orchestrated by Sherlock’s psychotic sister. Just an ordinary day.

Sherlock’s lips were impossibly soft and, oh my god, he knew how to kiss. It wasn’t tentative, it was hungry. Sherlock slid his tongue into John’s mouth and John found the back of Sherlock’s head and twisted his hand into his hair as if he had done it thousand times before. And he kissed back. He felt Sherlock moan against his lips. He didn’t care if it was a performance or real, he revelled in it. Sherlock kept going, shifting closer to John, opening his thighs even further. John squeezed his eyes shut, he could smell Sherlock. His expensive shampoo, his faint cologne and cigarettes, his soft, pressed shirt, which he was clutching in his fingers.

He was pulling Sherlock against him, wanting to feel him, all of him. He kept going solely on instinct, didn’t want to think, tried not to think, about where they were or why, just kissing him and, oh god, he didn’t know it could be like this.

Then he felt Sherlock’s hands on his hips, his belt, his fly, and realised he was hard already, painfully hard. John broke the kiss then. Sherlock was panting. His face was flushed, lips wet. He was tugging John’s trousers down. “John…”

John lifted his hips so Sherlock could pull his pants down as well, releasing his hard cock. John should have felt exposed, ridiculous, ashamed, but everything and everyone else had disappeared. Sherlock looked up, shifting his gaze from John’s crotch to his face. There was hunger in his eyes.

“John...” His voice was hoarse.

“Yes, do it,” he gasped. He could barely recognize his own voice.

Sherlock leaned down and took John in, all at once, all the way down, deep into his mouth into the hot, wet heat.

“Oh, god...” John had never felt anything so good in his life.

Sherlock pulled up, and went down again, sucking just right, just the way that made John see stars. He could feel the back of Sherlock’s throat, closing around him, he felt Sherlock’s huffs as he drew in air through his nose and felt his hot breathing on him. He put his hand on Sherlock’s head, twisting his hair, and felt and heard Sherlock’s moans around him, on his cock.

Sherlock didn’t slow down or speed up, just kept going, licking and sucking and moving up and down relentlessly. John wanted to push up, couldn’t stop himself from lifting his hips off the bed. It was fucking glorious and intimate and something he didn’t think could have ever been possible. He forced his eyes open to look at Sherlock moving on him. Sherlock’s cheeks hollowing out from the effort, his hands now sliding around John’s waist to pull him in further. And then he looked up, not stopping, but looking into John’s eyes for the briefest of moments before sucking him in again. And that was too much. Very, very soon, too soon, John was on the edge and he couldn’t do anything except let it happen. Involuntary, he lifted his hips, pushing into Sherlock’s mouth, even further in. Once, twice.

“Fuck…Sherlock, I’m…” He was coming. He knew he was making noise but couldn’t stop himself and Sherlock took it all in, swallowing hard.

“Oh fuck, fuck…oh Jesus…” John forced his eyes open again, breathing hard. Sherlock was releasing him now, lifting his head up. He was a mess. Cheeks pink, hair insane, eyes wild, panting. His hands were clutching John’s thighs so hard it almost hurt.

“Oh my god, that was…Sherlock…” John reached down and grabbed Sherlock by the front of his shirt and crushed their mouths together. Sherlock was shaking. He was moaning into the kiss and without thinking, John reached down feeling him, hard through his thin trousers.

“John, stop…I can’t…” and suddenly Sherlock was pulling away, dropping his head in his hands, hiding his face.

“Alright, it’s fine. It’s ok,” John reluctantly let go, watching Sherlock clearly trying to master himself.

“Just breathe, ok?”  He didn’t know if he was talking to Sherlock or himself. Awkwardly, he pulled his  pants and trousers back up, covering himself.

He looked at the TV screen. The timer had stopped at 1.43.

It was very quiet.

“We did it. We did what you wanted. Let Mycroft go,” John spoke to the camera in the right corner of the room. He lifted his hands and motioned around himself. “See?”

He looked at Sherlock who was still crouching on the floor. His breathing had slowed down but he was shaking slightly.

“You alright?” John asked. He felt a rage rise inside him, hatred so pure for Eurus, for doing this to Sherlock. Forcing him to do this. It was wrong. This was…private.

Sherlock took a deep breath, and lifted his head. He was still flushed and, fuck, he looked beautiful.

“Sherlock, I’m so sorry you had to do that.”

Sherlock shook his head.

“I’m sorry John. I didn’t want you to see this, ever. Me, like this.” He wiped his face with both of his hands.

“Why not? You’re…”

_…amazing, beautiful._

“You were never meant to see it.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s…”

Red lights, flashing, and suddenly Eurus’ voice filled the room. Her face was so white. John wanted to shoot at it. Smash the screen into thousand pieces.

“Well done, Sherlock. Your pet makes funny noises.” She was tapping the table with her gun.

“A bit dull. And so many feelings. Why feelings, Sherlock? Sex shouldn’t be about feelings. They are two different things. You want him. Why do you want him? He is so…ordinary. “

John was suddenly wondering how much time Moriarty had really spent with her. They sounded so much alike. She didn’t do theatrics, though. She was more like a machine.

She cocked her head and continued.

“Do you love him too, Sherlock? Do you love your pet? I think you do. I couldn’t see it before, but I see it now. You would die for him. You have already killed for him. Why? I want to know. If I killed him, what would you do? Would you kill me? Maybe we’ll see.”

Sherlock wasn’t looking at Eurus’ image, he was staring at the floor. John felt lightheaded.

“Well done, Sherlock,” Eurus repeated. She rolled her chair to the side and revealed a struggling Mycroft in the chair. He was now beetroot red in the face. “Our big brother lives another day! Maybe the next one will be more exciting.”

The screen went black again

John let out a sigh of relief. He felt weak as he got up and did his belt with numb fingers. He then offered his hand to Sherlock to help him up. Sherlock looked up and after a while, took it, slowly. He stood up in front of John.

John didn’t know what to say.  He just stared. He wanted to say so much, but couldn’t. It wasn’t private, nothing here was. In this prison. In this nightmare. Sherlock was staring back, his face unreadable. The moment stretched between them.

“When we get out of her, I want to tell you something,” John said, staring hard into Sherlock’s eyes. “Promise me, we will get out. And then I will tell you something very important.”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, John.“

“Say it.”

“I promise.”

Sherlock’s eyes looked mesmerising.  John couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he reached out to take one of Sherlock’s hands and squeezed it briefly before letting it go once more.

He heard the door click and the echo of it sliding open.

“Let’s go. Let’s see this through,” John said.

Sherlock bent down to pick up his jacket off the bed and put it back on. He took a deep breath, straightened his collar, and nodded at John. He then picked up the gun and walked through the door. John followed.

The first thing he saw when he stepped through it was a small coffin in the middle of the dark room.

His heart sank.

 

***


End file.
